


Stone walls do not a prison make

by kestra_troi



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe- No Supernatural, Angst and Porn, Background Lisa Braeden, Bathroom Sex, Bottom Dean Winchester, Coming In Pants, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dean gets Paid, Don't Like Don't Read, Dubious Consent, Dubiously Consensual Blow Jobs, Human Alastair (Supernatural), Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mentioins of raunch, Past Rape/Non-con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Prison, Praise Kink, Public Blow Jobs, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Work, Shameless Smut, Top Alastair (Supernatural), You Have Been Warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-05
Updated: 2019-04-05
Packaged: 2020-01-05 08:34:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18362423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kestra_troi/pseuds/kestra_troi
Summary: Dean spent over a decade in the slammer with Alastair "The Dentist" Heyerdahl as his cellmate. Hell on Earth.Now they're both out. Dean works at a bar and Al has come a'knocking for certain other services. Only this time he's paying.





	Stone walls do not a prison make

**Author's Note:**

> Yes this is a post-prison fic and yes there was rape/non-con stuff in the past, but it is only alluded to in passing. Nothing graphically described. But also yes this whole fic is basically non-con/dubious consent so tread carefully if these things trigger or squick you. 
> 
> Title is a Richard Lovelace quote.
> 
> Just so you know, Christopher Heyerdahl is my favorite actor/version/meat suit of Alastair, so I use his mannerisms/characterization in my fic.
> 
> Comments and kudos welcome, but hate and bashing will be deleted.

How quickly it all comes rushing back as if his sentence had never ended. His outstretched, overworked jaw. The weight of Al’s cock on his tongue, pushing down his throat. Catching breaths through his nose whenever he could. Everything as it was back in that cell. Dean’s eyes slid shut. He didn’t need them. He used to do this in near-total darkness. 

Lights out. That creak of movement from above him. Blindly reaching out to find Alastair hard and waiting. Getting down to business, overworked jaw and all. He could never hope to count the number of times he fell back into his bunk, exhausted, with the taste of Al’s come in his mouth, jizz on his breath. Almost every night. Old habits die hard. Practically no different than brushing his teeth.

Except brushing his teeth never got him hard.  

Dean panted heavily through his nostrils, his erection aching in his tight jeans. Another habit. A little reward to himself for a job well-done. A little chub rub to help Al’s dick go down easier. Dean clenched his hands into tight fists.

Not tonight.

Not here.

Not anymore.

“You can touch yourself, Dean,” Alastair softly mentioned like a freaking mind-reader. “I don’t mind.”

Dean shook his head and forced more of Al’s long, thick cock into his throat until his nose finally met the man’s sparse, wiry pubes. At least he wasn’t a hairy motherfucker. Dean huffed. Ten years of being bitch to “The Dentist” had taught him to appreciate the little things in life. Take nothing for granted.

“You always were the best, Dean,” Alastair lauded. “Nobody in that hole could suck cock like you.”

Stone-faced, Dean pulled off Al’s erection in one fluid motion. “Fuck off,” he retorted, whiskey-voiced and raspy. Alastair smiled down at him like he was a king sitting on an actual throne and not a freaking barroom toilet. A rare expression. One that carried a hint of satisfaction? As if both amused and somehow pleased with Dean’s defiant tone and death-glare.

“Tick, tock, sweet boy,” Alastair warned, reminding him of their limited time, suddenly the noise of the bar in the background popped back into Dean’s ears. He lowered his glance, staring unfocused into Al’s lean belly.

He didn’t have to keep going. He’d already pocketed a thousand dollars just for walking in. He didn’t have to keep risking getting caught sucking dick in the men’s restroom at his shitty job. He didn’t have to polish him off. Walking away sounded nice. Walking away sounded perfect. The thought certainly painted a pretty picture. Leaving Al undone, on his own, and frustrated. He could just walk away a thousand dollars richer, but a thousand dollars poorer too.

Over ten inches stood erect in front of his face. A sight he had never seen. Not once in the years they’d spent in that cell. Alastair had always kept it in the dark. After lights out. The mandatory blowjobs, the ‘toilet training’, and later on all the butt stuff. All of it in pitch black, dead of night, with little light to see by. Like a nightmare and a sex dream rolled into one.

Now, in the light, Alastair’s dick wasn’t nearly as scary.

Back then, as a fresh fish, it would’ve been.

Things could’ve been so much worse.

Dean closed his eyes and let muscle memory take over. Going home with _two_ thousand dollars in his pocket was better than just one. He could do this one last time. No one would ever have to know. Lisa would never have to know.

“Open your eyes, dear boy,” Alastair quietly requested. Dean did. His red-rimmed green eyes were caught in the silent burst of photos taken by Al’s iPhone. Dean froze. “I always knew you’d be even more beautiful with my cock between your lips.”

Anger burned in his guts while his cheeks blushed with embarrassment. He stared up at Alastair torn between hurt, fury, and puzzlement. “Surely two thousand dollars for a single blowjob entitles me to a few mementos, Dean,” he prompted.

Two thousand dollars, two thousand dollars, two thousand dollars. Two. Thousand. Dollars. Dean grabbed the base of Alastair’s cock and twisted it firmly as he slurped noisily on the rest. Gone was his caution of trying to be quiet. This needed to end. His break was probably long over by now.

Let the bastard take his pictures.

Let him have his moment.

Hell, let the man film it!

After well over ten years he would finally be done. DONE. Finished with this creep, this nasty, smug, manipulative, downright evil little bastard. His final visit to The Dentist. Ever. Lisp and cock and all.

Dean moaned around his overfamiliar mouthful, tracing the ridges and veins with his tongue for the last time, sucking the fat tip harshly the way Al liked, working the base the way he’d been trained. His own cock strained against his jeans, uncomfortable and unwelcome. With his free hand Dean pressed his erection flat against his thigh. No choking the chicken tonight. He just focused on getting this job done.

“My dear boy,” Alastair crooned, fondly resting his hand on the back of Dean’s head, his long fingers brushing again and again over the sensitive spot behind Dean’s ear. “You always were perfect for me. Such a good boy. Such. A. Good. Boy.”

With a violent shiver, Dean whined, erupting in his pants like an inexperienced teenager. Alastair hummed in the back of his throat and sighed lightly as his own orgasm hit. Dean melted slightly into Al’s touch, swallowing his load, frantically milking his cock for every drop while roughly squeezing his own dick in a fruitless attempt to stop cumming.

Two thousand dollars had never felt or tasted so good. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been wanting to write a Dean x Alastair (Human AU) for YEARSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! And now I finally have. OH THE RELIEF. 
> 
> Comments and kudos welcome, but hate/ship-shaming will be deleted.


End file.
